A retired bank clerk and a proud father of two sons, both are currently practicing medicine.
No complains, got more than I deserve, he said but his bunny teeth, took me a couple of shots till he gave way.
I think he looks quite cute with them. Can’t imagine him otherwise. In fact it’s our flaws that make us unique and when we accept them, the world follows or perhaps doesn’t matter.
He’s perfect, we’re perfect.
He paints. The mural behind is his collaborative effort along with a fellow artist. He said “I got two bits of advice for you. If you don’t make it big, you’ll end up like me. Don’t. And if you don’t lie, you won’t make it big”.
“I don’t understand”
“If you have it in you, soon before you know you’ll have to sell your soul that is if you have it in you. And if that moment of trade is not in sight, work towards making one”
Right opposite the wall is his shop. I glanced at his creations for sale for a few bucks. Indian gods, birds, animals on postcards, intricate work, decent stuff. He told me about a well-known local artist, dead, left plenty blank drawing sheets autographed, for his son who now hires random guys to do the rest.
“I structure my photo essays not sure if I want to make it interesting but I do feel a sense of duty to protect the person in my portrait…”
“That’s a start” He smiled
queen in her isolate room
her waning life, capsuled
been long, she stepped out
pictures of her vernal bliss
framed to calm her fading sight
they are mean
Man on the door
trades her world…
his watchful eyes
on the young queen
strolling in the palace gardens
first day of his job
she knew it all along
but prefers the sanity
of unspoken madness
Her antsy heart, pounds
for a trivial reason
and he awaits
outside her walls, uptight
“when will you call?”
Clock is a vile design of the capitalists to rein in the working class nevertheless this opinion of mine should not be misconstrued as my resistance to branded watches.
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